


A Secret Admirer

by Florrama



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Elriel, F/M, Romance, elriel secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florrama/pseuds/Florrama
Summary: Elain receives a small, brown envelope containing a rose and a slip of paper, with a swoon-worthy sentence written on it on the exact same day each month. She’s desperate to find out who is writing her these letters, but also can’t keep her mind off of a certain friend of hers.





	A Secret Admirer

**_December_ **

The man carries a scent of whiskey and expensive perfume; though ‘scent’ is probably too nice of a word. Scent implies something pleasant, like fresh roses or baking cupcakes. Elain has to try her hardest not to wrinkle her nose. He also thinks incredibly highly of himself. She had tried not to jump to conclusions when he swaggered into her space, wearing a blazer that probably cost more than her monthly rent and an arrogant smirk that screamed privilege. After all, Rhys wears expensive clothes and smirks - a lot - but Elain still wishes that either he or Feyre would hurry along and start dating already. 

This man is nothing like Rhys.

Elain starts to think that she shouldn’t have come to this party. They’re here - Elain, Nesta, and Feyre - by Rhys’ invitation. Although she’s heard the names of his closest circle of friends, she can’t put a name to face - having never met them. She feels out of place, hand slightly clammy against the wine glass she holds. It’s not just being surrounded by strangers, it’s the clothes she wears. Although it’s true that most of those attending are wearing relatively ordinary looking attire, despite their wealth, Elain still feels like she’s wearing something common. It’s just a nice party dress from New Look - nothing special. They can’t afford special. 

Another minute trapped in the conversation, and Elain begins to search for some means of escape - or another glass of wine... or something stronger. She’s really not fussed at this point. Her cheeks are beginning to twitch and her smile is probably becoming more and more plastic by the second. She’s about to admit defeat, simply let him bore her to death, when a voice - smooth and deep and velvety - breaks the man’s dramatic (which is an incredibly generous word, considering how bored she is) monologue. 

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to steal Elain for a moment.” 

Confusion briefly flashes across the man’s features before he realises the woman he’s been boring to tears for the last fifteen minutes is named Elain. She grips her glass a little tighter. He didn’t even bother to introduce himself properly, only passed along a business card, and didn’t ask for her name either. 

He stalks off, probably seeking out some other poor, isolated woman, and Elain turns to her saviour.

Her extremely handsome saviour, at that.   
It takes her a few seconds to come up with something intelligible to say. 

“Excuse me, but how do you know my name?” 

It may be a bit forward, and ‘thank you’ is probably the better route to take, but it’s also much more polite than ‘holy shit, you’re hot’ which was definitely at the forefront of her mind.   
He laughs, softly. Her legs feel like they’re melting. 

“I’m Azriel. Rhys has mentioned you a few times.” 

Elain shakes his hand, finger tips lingering over the calluses of his skin as she pulls away. Rhys has mentioned him too. 

“Thank you. His talk on finances was becoming a bit... dreary, to say the least.” Elain admits with a small shrug, and smiles gently in response to his own. “I feel so out of place. Are these parties usually like this?” 

“Full of sycophants and assholes? Yes, usually. With the exception of a very select group, of course.” 

“Of course.” They smile knowingly, as if this is their own private joke. It’s been five minutes and Elain already wants to be deeply engrained in his little group, the one Feyre is becoming so accustomed to. She seems to be having a grand time, drinking with Rhys and Mor, occasionally glancing around the room to check on her sisters - Feyre had probably sent Azriel to rescue her - though the same can’t be said of Nesta. “Nesta seems to be finding this even worse than I am.”   
Elain watches him out of the corner of her eye. His gentle smile slips into a smirk (one that Elain finds stupidly attractive) as he manages to find Nesta amongst the crowd. 

“She’ll get used to Cassian, eventually.” Cassian whispers something in Nesta’s ear, and Elain watches with growing amusement as Nesta’s skin flushes and she reaches for her drink. It’s no surprise when the colourful cocktail ends up on Cassian’s white shirt. Elain can’t help it - she bursts out laughing, only to cover her mouth when she catches Azriel watching her.

“What?” She asks, small giggles still slipping from her lips as she calms down. 

He takes a moment, the corner of his lips twitching. “Your laugh...”

“It’s the nose wrinkle, isn’t it?” Elain sighs, rubbing at her cheek. “Awful, I tell you.”

Azriel simply shakes his head, returning his gaze to the dancing crowd. 

It’s 2 am when they finally leave, Nesta and Elain supporting a slightly tipsy Feyre, who can’t seem to stop babbling about how gorgeous Rhys looked this evening. 

The next morning, when Elain eventually gets out of bed at 11 O’clock, Nesta stands by the front door frowning down at a brown envelope. 

“It’s for you, but I don’t recognise the handwriting. Who would be sending you handwritten letters?” Elain can’t explain it either. Instead of saying a word she takes the envelope and opens it carefully, finger nail slipping under the seal of the paper. There’s only a rose inside, slightly squashed due to the envelope but fresh. Elain is too busy staring at the rose to realise Nesta is distracted by something else. 

“Elain...”

She manages to tear her eyes away from the delicate rose in between her fingertips, only to feel it slip from her grasp at the sight of the tiny piece of card in Nesta’s hand. Elain quickly bends to pick up the rose before gently taking the card - no matter how much she wants to snatch it away - and reading it two, three, four times over. 

_You are truly radiant._

The words stay with her for months afterwards. 

**_June_ **

Thanks to the lovely weather, Elain’s florist business seems to have taken off rather suddenly. Orders and requests are piling up - and she’s grateful, but she hasn’t had a decent break in weeks. That and her mind is very much occupied by something else, and has been for the last six months.

She thought the rose would be a one off, something a secret admirer had sent her on a whim - but no, they continued. On the exact same day of each month (the 22nd) a small, brown envelope is pushed through the small slot of the door to the small house she and her sister’s share, containing a rose and an even smaller letter - each time with a different sentence. And it is always complimentary, and always makes Elain red in the cheeks and weak in the knees.   
What Elain wants most of all is to figure out who this admirer is. In fact, it plagues her thoughts constantly. Though plague isn’t the right word. These letters are sometimes the only things that keep her going. 

The bell rings, and she is broken from her reverie. Her fingers are sore from working on bouquets and arrangements all day, but the person at the door brings a smile to her face.

“Lucien. How can I help?” 

It’s the slightly pink tinge to his cheeks and the way his eyes briefly drop to her lips when she laughs that makes her consider the possibility. He’s a lovely man, and his appearance certainly is striking. By the time she’s taken his request, filed it away for the next week, Elain has gathered enough courage to make a request of her own.

“I-Lucien, do you fancy a drink sometime?” 

The grin of pure joy that stretches his lips is lovely, but there’s a twinge in the back of her mind that can’t help but compare it to someone else’s. 

**_September_ **

It didn’t work out, to say the least. Lucien was lovely, is lovely, but her mind remained on the letters and truthfully? It got in the way. Although they had never confirmed what they were, to themselves nor anyone else, they had continued dating. And Elain had brought up the letters one meal time, asking if it was him.

It wasn’t. Then it started going downhill a little. Lucien didn’t like the idea of the letters - which was fair enough - but Elain loved them, and the both of them stopped getting along as well as they used to. 

At this very moment, she’s sitting in her favourite coffee shop, tapping away on her old, but still very reliable, laptop. It has little stickers of hearts and flowers on the back, as well as one of the Pusheen cats. She’d received a letter the day before, and it had been the most beautiful so far - _‘You keep my shadows at bay’._

A small cough comes from the right of her, and another mug of coffee is placed in front of her. 

“I mean no offence,” Elain looks into her previous coffee cup, only to realise that it is empty - she hadn’t even realised. “But you look knackered.” 

She sighs, taking a sip from he new mug even though it scalds her tongue. Azriel sits down opposite her, stretched legs causing his feet to brush against hers.

“I’ve just been getting to sleep late, and waking up early.” She ignores the look of concern that crossed his features, and instead closes the lid of her laptop. She’d been going through the possibilities again. It is becoming obsessive. Not that she can bring herself to care. Elain frowns as she notices shadows under his eyes. “You’re not looking too cracking yourself, Az.”

He shrugs. “You make it easier to handle.”

The words resonate. There’s something familiar about them, even if she can’t recall what. Elain looks back down at her laptop. Even with the lid closed, she knows the list. It’s engrained in her mind - but she’s never even started to consider that it might be... 

Elain looks up at Azriel again. Just the sight of him makes her heart race, and just proves that she was foolish to try anything with Lucien. Ever since that Christmas party Azriel hasn’t left Elain’s thoughts. It’s his thoughtfulness, and his quiet, wicked, but quiet nonetheless, humour. It’s as if her brain only has room for him, and this mysterious sender. Elain sighs, and takes another sip of her coffee. She’s too tired to think on this right now.

**_December_ **

The October card left her sitting on the stairs for a good twenty minutes. 

_‘You complete me.’_

It’s nothing original. She knows it comes from a romcom, one she’s watched so many times she can quote most of the movie. But it still brings a tear to her eye. It makes her want to find out who this person is with an increased fervour. 

It’s all she can think about while she stands next to the food table at the annual Christmas party. A small group has managed to capture Azriel’a attention. She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re talking about love and romance and, quite frankly, Elain is extremely curious. 

Azriel doesn’t say a word as woman after woman gush over romance movies, as they bat their eyelashes in his direction. Elain feels her gut twist as she hears his laugh. As charming as ever. She’s about to stop listening, when one simple sentence stops her heart mid beat.

“Sorry, but I’m already complete.”

The words are still raw. It’s too much of a coincidence. Elain’s glass has frozen at her lips, her brain working in overdrive to try and figure out what is going on. 

Could Azriel be the one? It both makes sense and comes across as a completely foolish notion at the same time. It’s quiet, and subtle, and clever - just like him - but if it his him, she wishes he would just come out and say it. 

They’ve grown close, so very close, over the past year. They visit each other constantly. He helps her bake. She keeps him company while he fills out reports. It’s too good to be true, but everyone deserves a little foolish hope. 

So the next morning, on the 22nd of December, Elain wakes up early and stands by the door, oversized jumper on and hot mug of coffee in her palms. She waits an hour, two, completing crosswords and word-searches and sudokus as she waits.

Elain nearly gives up.  
But there’s a rustle outside, the sound of quiet footsteps.   
She pulls open the door.  
He meets her gaze.   
Elain smiles.

Azriel’s nose and cheeks are red from the cold, and his hair flops in front of his eyes. He looks stunned, frozen in time, with the envelope between his fingers, stretched towards the door. 

“Elain-“

Softly, she moves to stand on the front step, eye to eye worry Azriel. Her bare feet sink into the thin layer of snow, chilling her to the bone, but still she stays. 

“Say it, please.” Her voice is breathless, but Azriel stands to attention as if it’s a command. There’s a beat, a moment of silence, as Azriel scratches the back of his neck and releases a sigh. 

_“My wretched heart will love you, indefinitely.”_

Elain reaches forward, taking the envelope from his fingers with one hand, and tugging on his sleeve with the other. 

“You have made me so happy, these past months. But why not just tell me?” 

“I watched the Notebook.” Azriel admits, lacing his fingers with others. “I became inspired - but a rose a day seemed a bit like an overkill, in all honesty.” Elain snorts, and rests her forehead against his as Azriel tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Only for you, El.” A soft brush of his lips against hers. A gentle sigh from her own. “Only for you.”


End file.
